


Crying Over Spilled Milk

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Top John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6850705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for for the spnkink_meme prompt:</p><p>John and Dean are in a established sexual relationship. After a bad hunt John is fucking Dean and Dean starts crying. Not because of pain but emotional exhaustion/relief they got out alive/whatever and it turns out that John fucking loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crying Over Spilled Milk

The moment the motel door closed, Dean’s hands were all over John. Not in the usual way with playful tongues and grinding involved. Rather, his son’s hands were deft and all-business as they raised John’s shirt and run up and down John’s ribs. His hand catches the gauze on John’s left side, under his breast bone. Dean put that gauze there himself not half an hour ago, a nasty encounter with a particularly nasty shifter, and John had to admit himself it had been close. 

It had been too close, but somehow more than the pain, the memory of Dean’s scream when the damn shifter put that gun on John’s head, that scream was fresher on his mind, like it’s still ringing in his ears.

His son sounded like somebody put hooks into his body and had started tugging. It sounded like he was losing his own flesh, and it was disconcerting enough coming from his soldier that it was John that came to him afterwards, checking his boy for injuries first, because he looked so shook up. 

Dean had gone back to being his soldier by then, though, his face grave and his hands well-practiced as they dug around his bag for antiseptics and gauzes. His voice was completely flat as he declared John’s wound was a clean through and through, bandaging him with much practice. It could have easily lodged more upward and hit major organs. It could’ve too easily ended with a lot more blood and fewer Winchester.

It was way too damn close, John’s gotta make sure he’s even more prepared next time. 

His son stayed icily silent on their way back, but that ice melted instantly as they reached their room, and Dean’s hands were a lot more shaky, his voice a bit more desperate.

‘Get under the lamp, Dad, I need to check the wound proper.’

‘It’s fine, boy,’

‘it’s not f- Can you just-‘ he stopped, hands and teeth clenched like he was trying not to blow up at his own father. John relented and sat down on the bed under the overhead light. He heard Dean sighed softly and kneeled in front of him. Practiced hands unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off, before they came back to his gauze. Dean peeled back a side of the dressing, checking his own stitches to make sure it’s up to his own standard. 

‘This should hold for the night. I’ll change it in the morning.’ He said finally, but his voice is back to its unnatural flatness that made John frown, and he lifted up his son’s chin with his thumb, forcing eye contact. John never understood Dean better than when he’s looking into his too honest eyes.

Before their eyes could meet, Dean surged forward and slammed their lips together instead. His tongue running along John’s lower lip, coaxing it open, coaxing his tongue out, his mouth opening, surrendering, when John’s tongue chased his back to the warmth of Dean’s mouth. Dean moaned as John’s tongue explored, a little desperate, but they’re both still running on adrenaline, and who was John to say no when Dean started climbing onto his lap, his thighs an inviting V around John’s waist, and his ample ass grinding down instantly on John’s jeans-clad dick. 

One hand on the back of his boy’s head to angle the kiss better, and another tugging his belt, John gruffly ordered, ‘off, boy,’ and Dean instantly understood. He climbed off his lap to start striping out of his shirt, his undershirt, his shoes, jeans and boxers, until he’s standing in front of John with only his amulet around his neck. The rest of him are golden skin and his hardening cock, youthful and raw-looking, and he’s a fucking work of art surrounded by tacky motel decors, and John is rock hard every time he thinks about fucking his precious boy until he’s muffling screams on cheap sheets and cheaper pillow cases. The contrast of Dean’s creamy skin against their ugliness, and the fact that his boy is letting him do all of this—using him, making him dirty like those sheets—John doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that could boil his blood more. 

When their mouths met again, naked and horizontal on the bed this time, their kiss was tinged with more desperation. Dean’s hands around his shoulders gripping tighter than usual as he writhed on top of his father. John wondered if his boy wanted extra care, like he usually does after hunts. He usually wanted a bit more pain, a bit more restraint, but Dean was still avoiding his gaze.

‘Dean, do you want-‘

His question was halted with another kiss, a series of them now, softer and simultaneously more insistent, trailing up his stubbled jaw towards his ear. John let his hands trail down his boy’s back, along his tail bone until they reached the swell of his ass, teasing the crack. Dean gasped softly on his ear and shook his head.

‘Just- fuck me, Daddy,’ he pleaded, the words sweet on John’s ear, and John had to grab his cheeks at that, pushed them apart, so he could wedge his hard cock in between the globes. 

‘This what you want, baby? My cock buried deep, right here?’ He said as he slid his cock along Dean’s crack, as if he’s in no hurry to get buried to the hilt inside his boy and watch him get wild as he fucked him good. 

Dean’s arms around John’s shoulders tightened as he nodded vehemently, his breath catching a bit every time John’s tip grazed his hole but not quite getting in, not quite getting it where he was aching for it. ‘please, Daddy,’ 

John couldn’t help but smirk before he caught Dean’s mouth in another searing kiss. His boy always asks so sweetly, John couldn’t possibly say no to him. 

Without looking John reached out to the bedside table—still careful not to pull at his gauze—and took the tube of lube there that he threw lightly at his son, who caught it easily. John nodded at the tube. 

‘Prepare yourself, baby,’

Dean nodded faintly before squirting out a good amount on his fingers and reaching backwards. John crossed his arms behind his head and lied back against the pillow, watching Dean’s face intently as his son fingered himself. Two, for now, and John knew it’s not nearly enough. Dean added a third and his hips started moving as if out of their own volition, hungry for more, but John’s big and Dean’s always so tight, so it’s always four fingers, and as the fourth enter, Dean’s mouth gaped open, obscenely red, and John knew it was the same color as his hole, and gaping just the same. John put two fingers in his son’s mouth and Dean moaned between the fingers in his mouth and his own spreading his hole.

‘Ready, boy?’

Another nod and a moan, and John placed himself solid on the bed as his hand gripped Dean’s hips, nice and strong. He let the tip of his cock grazed Dean’s rim again and almost moaned at the welcoming gape and heat of it. He made sure he’s in the correct position before, with the firm grip on his hips, he pulled his son down on to his cock in one swift motion.

Dean’s moan as John’s cock entered him was half a scream, and he muffled it against John’s neck, and John had to admit it was so intense, that his son was too hot, too tight, too perfect around him, he needed to halt for a bit else he’d come there and then. 

Dean’s muffled moan turned into a sob, and that piqued John’s attention.

‘What’s wrong, son?’

Dean shook his head.

‘Dean, did I hurt-’

He shook his head again, but another sob tore through his throat, though he’s still pretending John’s shoulders muffled those sounds. And then, to John’s amazement, John felt wetness against the skin of his shoulder.

John reached for his boy’s face, and Dean tried to pull away, but his father would have none of it. John held his face between his palms, and forced his son to look up and meet his eyes. 

Dean’s eyes were red, and there were already tear tracks running down his cheeks, and fresher tears were already pooling on the corner of his eyes. 

John never saw Dean cry since he was much too young, knowing that his firstborn thought he shouldn’t cry else he’d upset Sammy. It had been so long, he’d forgotten what Dean looked with tear drops caught on his curling lashes. But watching him now, it was almost a punch in the gut seeing how pretty he looked. 

John could feel his cock throbbed and Dean gasped at the feel of it between the sobs he was trying to rein in. ‘Fuck,’ John swore under his breath, looking at Dean’s reddening skin, flushing like he didn’t mean to be caught crying. His boy was so fucking pretty like that. 

‘Tell Daddy what’s wrong, baby,’ John said, and it was firm, it was an order, as he ran his tongue up Dean’s cheek from the boy’s chin to his lashes, tasting the salt in his tears and feeling himself getting bigger inside his son. Dean moaned at the sensation inside him, at the hotness of John’s tongue on his skin, and he knew he must bare his emotions in front of his father. He wanted more than anything to bury his head on John’s shoulder again, but his father had gave him an order, and he couldn’t avoid eye contact, he was raised better than that.

Dean could feel his lower lip trembled slightly as he opened his mouth to answer, he just hoped John didn’t notice. 

‘I-‘ his voice shook, and Dean had to swallowed first before he tried again.

‘I thought it got you…’ he tried again.

‘The shifter, you mean?’

Dean nodded. ‘I thought it got you, and it was _my_ gun it used to- to shoot you, I put the bullets in myself, and if only I got there faster, if only he didn’t wrestle the gun off of me, if I’d just-’ the words came flooding out, and the tremble in his lips was more pronounced with time, as he concentrated on putting his jumbled thoughts into words, the emotions that seemed to burn his chest and got lodged in his throat and made the tears still run freely down his cheeks. It was getting a bit hard to breath between the sobs, but John wasn’t relenting, and Dean wasn’t allowed to break eye contact yet.

‘I thought I’d lost you, Daddy…’ he said in a whisper, and his grief tasted sweet on his tongue as John leaned in to kiss him again. 

His fingers on the boy’s face are wet with his tears, and John pulled away to lick at the moisture, and lick at Dean’s still wet face, and chased the wetness back into his mouth. ‘Daddy’s right here, baby boy,’ the saliva was mixing with tears, making it salty, making John thirsty and doing nothing to quench his thirst. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re fucking delicious like this, baby,’ John whispered, gruff, as he licked inside Dean’s mouth once again before pulling away.

The boy refused to let go, though, and his arms sneaked back around John’s neck, holding tight, damp cheek against John’s face as he pleaded, ‘you can take ‘em. Take the tears, Daddy, take _me_ , take everything you want. Just- _please_ ,’

His boy always did ask so sweetly. 

John pistoned his hips up, plunged deep and so, so good into his boy like that, as Dean’s please turned into moans, into a harsh gasp as John found his sweet spot and ruthlessly aimed his thrusts at that angle. His boy clenched around him, and delicious _ah, ah anh_ sounds came out of his lips, desperately slutty-sounding, and John had to bite his lips to keep from coming. 

Putting both his hands back on Dean’s hips, John pulled the boy down on his cock as he thrusted upward, deeper now, and Dean moaned loudly again.

‘Feels so good, daddy…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Uh-huh. So big. Feel so full.’

‘Wanna feel fuller, baby?’

‘Yes…’ his boy answered, and it was almost a hiss, desperation coming out between his lips. ‘Fill me, Daddy, make me full of your cum.’

‘What’s the magic word, baby?’

‘Please, Daddy,’

John smirked and thrusted into Dean faster, pretty sure he’s opening his wounds again, but couldn’t give a fuck right then as his son _ah, anh anh_ prettily on top of him before he flooded the boy’s hole with his cum, jets after jets coating Dean’s insides before overflowing as Dean came with a shout at the feel of John’s cum in him, his own spent painted between their stomachs, mouth falling open and eyes squeezed shut so tightly, beads of tears formed at their corners. John couldn’t help but surged up to drink them in. 

So fucking delicious, his boy. 

 

**.**

  


A fill for for the spnkink_meme prompt: 
    John and Dean are in a established sexual relationship. After a bad hunt John is fucking Dean and Dean starts crying. Not because of pain but emotional exhaustion/relief they got out alive/whatever and it turns out that John fucking loves it.


End file.
